Romano's Mission Impossible
by Sylph's Arrow
Summary: When Spain gets sick again, Romano makes it his mission to actually be nice to his crush. But remember; we are dealing with Romano here. Rated for Romano's ever-so-clean language.
1. Impromptu Mission

Woo! Spamano! Sorry if either Spain or Romano are OOC and for the shortness of the chapter...It felt like a good place to end the chapter. I don't own Hetalia, either.

* * *

Romano was having a bad day. Not only did his and Veneziano's curls get stuck together in the middle of the night, causing a _very_ awkward untangling process when Germany busted into the room, but said situation meant minimal sleep that night. So when his phone rang, he wasn't feeling very… pleasant. Added on to the I-got-no-sleep-last-night irritability, the fact that it could be anyone kept him from answering. Damn it, America really needed to get caller ID done! He said he was close to finishing, but … it's _America_.

His internal debate continued for a few long seconds as the phone kept ringing. With a low curse in his native language, the Italian grabbed the phone and muttered a gruff hello.

"Romano?" came Spain's voice. But Spain wasn't his normal self. His voice was raspy and occasionally when he spoke he was interrupted by hacking fits. "I'm kind of –" Cue one of said fits. Once it ended, Spain continued. "In a bad situation. I managed to get myself pretty sick, and I'm sort of stuck…Can you just come over?" Romano was just silent. What was this world coming to? Spain sounded… miserable? Is that even _possible?_

Spain's unending optimism aside, Romano had to make a decision. Leave him there to rot, or go over and possibly end up making things worse? If either happened, Romano would feel guilty. After all, he did have a little crush on Spain.

Romano rapidly banished those thoughts from his mind. I mean, if you really think about it, Spain raised him! Shouldn't Spain be his big brother figure or something? Gah! Too complicated!

"Hell no, tomato bastard! You'll get me sick too!" Fuck. And Romano wondered why Spain only thought of him as a friend. Curse his own _tsundere_ personality!

"Pleeease? With a tomato on top, Lovi?" He twitched at the nickname. But, Romano had a sudden flare of determination, and a realization that accompanied it. What did the determination produce? A mission: to actually help Spain and be nice to him! The realization?

How in the living hell was he going to accomplish that?

Another cough from Spain broke Romano out of his reverie. He attempted to respond in a pleasant-ish way. The result was like Switzerland trying to laugh.

"Fine! I'll be over, uh, sometime!" Romano's response was rushed, and he quickly hung up after it to avoid mouthing off.

After the phone call, Romano prepared himself for the trip to Spain's house. And the journey through France was the least of his issues. Romano was only sure about one thing; this was going to be one hard fucking mission.


	2. A Huge Screwup

Second chapter! Thanks to Orithyea and angelyuki789 for reviewing! And disclaimer: Hetalia doesn't belong to moi.

* * *

Romano stood at the doorstep of the house he shared with Veneziano, holding a large bag of tomatoes. Half were for snacking, and the other half were for warding off France. Even in an Italian car, that French bastard could still somehow catch up to him!

But this time, Romano had his brother with him. Why would that help you might ask?

First of all, Veneziano is a crazy driver. Second of all, he can get away with being a crazy driver. Unless it's Germany and laps around the track, Veneziano can dodge the bullet every time. Especially if the police officer happened to be female.

"_Fratello!_" yelled the younger Italian. At least, that's what Romano thought he said. You really can't be sure when the car is going over eighty. "It's big brother France!" Veneziano continued. A tomato magically appeared in Romano's hand. "TOMATOS AT THE READY!"

Poor France. He was wearing a crisp, white button-down, too.

When the duo finally arrived, they were several hours late due to difficulties of French origin. As soon as Veneziano quickly dropped off Romano and sped off to annoy Germany, Romano walked up to the entrance of Spain's large house. With a deep breath, he walked inside.

The situation somewhat resembled a student walking into the AP Chemistry class they know they're going to flunk. ._ Why the hell do I even have a spare key to his house, anyways? _ But those thoughts were irrelevant. Damn, he really was spacey these days.

Romano looked around, trying to remember which set of hallways led to the master suite where Spain would be. Unpleasant memories of bathrooms wafted through Romano's mind. Damn those days were embarrassing!

Speaking of memories though, it was abnormally quiet. Usually there was some Spanish music playing or a guitar strumming in the background. Instead, there was a faint… coughing noise? _Spain did have quite a cough on the phone, so if I follow it it'll lead me to that jerk._ And sure enough, Romano eventually found a large set of fancy double doors that presumably led to the master bedroom. _Time to face the goddamned music._ With a firm push on the door, Romano could see Spain. And he looked _pretty _shitty.

The Spaniard's hair did normally have a sort of tousled, messy look to it, but this was ridiculous. When he sat up to greet his former charge, Romano saw a visible dent in the back of his hair that can only be achieved by staying in bed for at least a day straight. Other parts stuck up all over the place, and Spain had stubble on his face that most certainly didn't belong there.

"You actually came here!" Spain's voice did have a slight amount of disbelief and hoarseness in his voice, but it still retained the always present Spanish optimism. "Of course-" _You bastard. _ Well, that was what he wanted to say._ No no no no no! Think of being nice…imagine him as a pretty girl! _ "-_bella_." He finished.

Wait. Did he actually just say that?

FUUUUUUU-


	3. Laundry Day: Worse Than Trash Day

Keep up with the reviews, peeps! Thanks to all! Heh, I also left a little bit to the imagination here. *wink wink*

~Disclaimer~ Hetalia isn't mine!

-Signora Fortuna=Lady Luck in Italian

-95% of Italian men don't know how to operate a washing machine. This fact was the inspiration for this chapter.

* * *

To say that it was an awkward silence would be the absolute understatement of the century. All Romano wanted to do was run away with speed that only an Italian could possess. _Fuckfuckfuck what do I say what do I say- "_So, Romano, how was your trip over here?" The look of utter horror that was plastered on Romano's face was immediately replaced with joy. Well, as close as joy can get.

Romano cursed Spain's inability to "read the mood" thousands of times, but that didn't even matter now. _Maybe Signora Fortuna is actually smiling on me today!_

Unfortunately, as happy as Romano was on the inside, he simply lacked the ability to look or sound even remotely happy. "I threw tomatoes at France." The bored-sounding Italian deadpanned. "Well, since you're here, you can start by doing laundry!" The miserable sound and the coughing fits had virtually disappeared from Spain's voice. On the other hand, rage clearly showed in Romano's.

"What am I, your damn maid?" Despite this, Romano still stomped over to the king-sized bed.

An hour of weirdness, awkwardness, piggyback rides, and craziness later, Romano finally had all of the laundry sitting in a pile in front of consisted of the bedspread, sheets, and Spain's clothes. A small blush still resided on Romano's olive-toned cheeks. _Why the hell did I have to get him off the bed? Can't he walk on his own? And strip on his own?_ His blush deepened.

Now, another dilemma stood before him: washing the clothes. "Maybe there are instructions?" Romano muttered to himself. He continued. "Just thow it all in the one to the right…detergent? Where the hell is that? I'll just use soap instead." With a resounding slam, he shut the lid of the washing machine. _On button, on button…Uhh, temperature and time…SHIT!_

Oh, silly Romano. You should know better than to put the white bedspread and sheets with Spain's tomato-red pajamas, or put a hot temperature for silk pajamas.

* * *

If you have any ideas/prompts for this story, I will gladly accept them!


	4. Kidnapping and the Effects of Sneezing

Longest chapter so far! Though that's not saying that much...I've also noticed this is sort of turning into a crack fic. Ah well.

Thanks to Orithyea for the idea of Maid!Romano, which will be further explored next chapter.

Several notes!

-The suplex is a reference to a video. Just type "Elevator supplex" into your browser and the video should come up. That part of this chapter make so much more sense then.

-"Je serai toujours jeune!"= "I will alway be young!" Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

-My name isn't Hidekaz Himaruya so I don't own Hetalia. I also don't own Twilight. Not that I'd want to...

* * *

While Romano was finishing his battle with the washing machine, Spain was left to his own thoughts. Specifically one sentence that Romano had said.

_"What am I, your damn maid?" _

The image of Romano in a maid outfit brought a silly grin to Spain's face. _France has to have some sort of costume in the back of his closet…_ He could already imagine a heavy blush on Romano's face, the same blush that Spain had witnessed not too long ago. Maybe the dress would be too short, and Romano would pull the edges of the skirt down modestly? Oh dear. Maybe France was rubbing off on him.

_Wait._ Speaking of France, if the Country of Passion was going to fulfill his wish, Romano would probably need, ah, _subduing._ Grabbing the phone from the bedside table, Spain made a call to his fellow members of the Bad Touch Trio. _Who'll be the _bella_ then? Fusosososo~_

"SHIIIITT!" yelled a very, very confused Italian. "So many fucking bubbles! AHH! They're all over me! And…and the sheets are PINK! The silk is ruined! DAMMIT!"

To say that Romano failed at the laundry would be a _massive _understatement. The suds overflowed, and got all over him. Unfortunately for Romano, he never got a chance to change. In true kidnapping style, a chloroform cloth was firmly pressed over his mouth. Then France and Prussia were pulling a sack over his head. For the hell of it, they shoved him into a white van and drove in a circle. Revenge is a bitch, and that especially applies when you screw with France's clothes. If he can't flirt with girls with tomatoes covering him, then no living thing can.

After arriving back at Spain's house, the duo picked up Romano (who was still in a leather bag) and ran inside with him, laughing like teenage boys the entire time. Scratch that: Prussia was laughing like a teenager. "Kesesesese~" France was doing the rapist laugh. "Ohohohon~" Hey, just because they're five hundred plus years old doesn't mean they can't have some fun. "Je serai toujours jeune! Never will I be an old man!" yelled France with sparkles surrounding him.

~Somewhere~

Estonia was baffled. Half of his normal sparkles were gone! Was it that bastard Edward again…

~In China and Japan~

China was absolutely overjoyed! He had just finished one of hi favorite meals, Peking Duck, and couldn't wait for the savory flavors to fill his mouth. Then the sneeze came. Right into the steaming hot meal. "M-my…MY FOOD ARU!"

Japan was just minding his own business on the elevator when he felt the familiar weight of his wallet leave his pocket. At the same time, the door opened. In a flash, the pickpocket began to dash. Japan was going to have nothing of it. He grabbed the arm of the offender, wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, and prepared to perform a suplex. Japanese style. And he sneezed, throwing his weight off balance. The thief bolted off, with Japan in hot pursuit. _Why did Germany and Italy have to come visit today?_ It was hard to explain to the two why he was running after the robber like a maniac. At least both of them was impressed when Japan ninja-tackled the man to the ground.


	5. A Wild Magikarp Appears!

This chapter is a bit fluffier than the others. Oh yeah! My thanks to the reviewers: Amanda Opalis, angelyuki789, Orithyea, Amateur SoulReaper, livingstorywriter101, FrostyTheBookLover, Spainbow Dash, Waveripple of Team Sunrise, srbkatomato, Chrissymay and Some Stalker Probably. Wheew. Thanks for all of the reviews; I just wanted to let you people know that I am reading your reviews and I appreciate them very much! I especially want to thank Orithyea and angelyuki789 for reviewing on every chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon, Hetalia, Rubik's Cube or MasterCard.

* * *

Romano opened his eyes slowly, eyes adjusting to the light. _Where the fuck am I? _ A brief moment of panic set it before his memories came rushing back. "THAT DAMNED-" He quickly sat up. Too quickly. "Urgh…My head…" Romano let his throbbing head fall back with a soft _thump_ and then let it loll to the side. It rested on something…warm and comfortable.

"Oh, you're awake!" His eyes snapped open in absolute horror. Romano found himself in an incredibly compromising position.

In Spain's bed. Resting his head on Spain's shoulder. While dressed as a maid.

With a side-jump-flail that slightly resembled the flopping fish on his brother's DS (Romano did have to admit…As much as he hated it, Japan made some badass stuff) he managed to jump out of the bed, perform some neck contortion to avoid smacking his head on the bedside table, and begin to log-roll away. Anywhere away from Spain was great at that moment!

Not that Spain minded. He got a great view. But after Romano discovered that he really couldn't log-roll through closed doors, he stood up and prepared to flee like an Italian.

"Nooo! Romano, come back! Are you really going to leave me here to die? Without food or water? Without tomatoes?" Normally in one of these situations, Spain would be holding onto Romano's leg and Romano would be cussing like a sailor while trying to shake the clingy bastard off. But things were a little bit different this time.

1) Spain was bedridden.

2)Romano was in a maid costume.

3)Spain was making up for the fact that he couldn't be hanging on to Romano's leg by waving his arms wildly. How this was supposed to help, nobody knows.

But the cussing stayed the same.

_H-how did I get to this… _Thought Romano as he contemplated fleeing. _I come over trying to be nice, and I end up dressed as a maid…_

"Fine." Romano sounded like a pouty child as he turned around. "But only if this damned thing-" He pointed at the costume (while blushing) for emphasis. "Comes off." He finished. Spain simply laughed.

"That's not going to happen~ There's a Rubik's cube on the back, so you can only take it off if you solve the cube." Pause.

Words weren't even necessary. The look of pure WTFery on Romano's face was MasterCard priceless. Spain shrugged. "You never know what you'll find in France's closet. He continued.

"Romano, since you _are_ my maid now, can I have some tomato soup?" At the thought of cooking, Romano's anger deflated. Spain watched as that adorable little pout formed on his lips again. "You know it won't be as good as my brother's cooking. It never has been, or ever will." The pout turned into a deep frown while a soft smile graced Spain's face. "Your brother isn't here though, is he?" He pointed out. The frown lessened. _Come on, Romano! This is a good time to be nice to him! _The currently cross-dressing Italian gave himself a mental pep talk.

"Yeah." Romano gave Spain a rare and slightly forced smile.


	6. Fabulous Pranks and Gazpacho

This part was inspired by a song that was so totally Poland! It's "Fabulous" by Chelsea Staub, and that's were the lyrics in the end come from. I don't own it, Saran Wrap, or Hetalia. But seriously: I don't know why there isn't an AMV with this song. Two other things:

-I'm not quite sure if anyone really saw it since it's on my profile, but I'm taking requests. The list of who I ship is on my profile.

-I'm also starting another story called "My Lesbian Boyfriend". The adventures of China and his struggles with his lack of...manliness. Please look out for it!

* * *

After agreeing to make some tomato soup, Romano quickly ran off to the kitchen. However, he did stop to examine himself in the hallway bathroom.

The outfit was in a French maid style, as expected from France. It was strapless with a frilly trim, and went down mid-thigh. The classic headband, apron and fishnet stockings topped it off.

_Who put this on me? _Romano thought with distress. If France did…Romano could only hope that his vital regions weren't invaded.

With one final shudder at that idea, he continued on to the kitchen. _The sooner I can get out of this the better._

Inside Spain's grand and vast kitchen, Romano got out stale bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, onions, garlic, olive oil, wine vinegar, and salt. He began to mutter to himself. "Hmm. When he said tomato soup, I'm assuming he meant the Spanish version, or gazpacho." While Romano may not be the master chef that his brother is, he underestimates his own cooking ability. He recited the recipe for gazpacho, a favorite of Spain's, out loud.

"Wash the vegetables, peel the tomatoes, garlic, and onions. Chop all of the vegetables and herbs, then purée. Cold water, olive oil, vinegar, and salt…where the hell did I put the salt…"

* * *

~Meanwhile with Spain~

After recovering from a small nosebleed, Spain's fever began to come back. "And the medicine was working so well… The gazpacho will help." The energy and happiness that practically seeped out of him before had disappeared. All that was left was exhaustion, the type that almost belied his true experience and age as a nation. Half-lidded eyes finally gave into sleep, and closed all the way.

Romano pulled the bowl out of the refrigerator. Finally, it was done chilling! Albeit it wasn't the edible pieces of art that France or Veneziano might create, it was pretty damn tasty! He marched triumphantly over to the master suit, only to find Spain in a deep _siesta_. Romano looked over at the conveniently placed alarm clock. 5:00pm. _My siesta time has already passed, though it was spent in that jerk's bed. _

He gingerly set down the gazpacho. Oh, he already knew what to do. Smirking, Romano experimentally poked Spain's cheek to see how deeply he was sleeping. The Spaniard didn't even stir. _Revenge time._

When Spain woke up, it was to an airhorn. Imagine his confusion as he jolted up, only to slam his head on a coffee table strategically placed, somehow roll to the side, fall on the ground, and discover he was wrapped like a mummy. _How did I get covered with Saran Wrap from the shoulders down?_

And he didn't even know that a mustache, the words "REVENGE IS A BITCH" and various other obscene things were printed across his face. In Sharpie. What he did know though, was that Romano was rolling on the floor laughing.

These are the sort of situations were Poland's presence would cause complications. He would say akin to, "ROFLing is like, totally last year!" Complete with a sassy finger snap in Z-formation, and some hair-flipping action, too. Remember boys and girls, fabulous is spelled P-O-L-A-N-D.

Somewhere in Poland, said crossdresser was singing his pretty little heart out.  
"I'm FABULOUS! Simply one and only FABULOUS! Come and get to know me, FABULOUS! You wanna be my homie, FABULOUS! Funky and fab-ul-ous! Come on, Liet! Like, come sing with me!"


	7. 300 Ways to Piss Off Romano at Carrefour

First of all: I'M SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING FOR FOREVER! I wrote and re-wrote this chapter about nine times, and each time I just looked at it, it sucked. But to make up for that, it's an extra long chapter! *celebration* And, I have a little short oneshot posted if you want to take a look at it.

Disclaimer: Sylph's Arrow doesn't own:

-Wal-Mart

-Carrefour

-300 Ways to Get Kicked Out of Wal-Mart

-Hetalia

-Nyquil

-Journey to the Center of the Earth

But I do own the awesome, kickass (read: crazy) Grandma Rose!

Just a side note, about the reviews. I see quite a few reviews saying thing like, "Please finish this!" I would never ever ever leave a story that has received positive attention unfinished. It happens to me all the time; I find a fic that I love but the author hasn't updated since 2011. There may be some small breaks when I run dry on inspiration, but don't worry. I will finish this! Wheew, massive A/N finished, onto the story.

* * *

Romano collapsed on the guest bed, thankful that the long day was over. The events played back through his mind. Coming over to the house, throwing tomatoes at France, doing laundry, getting stuck in a maid outfit, making gazpacho, and playing a prank on Spain. Not to mention cutting Spain out of his binds, hand-feeding him gazpacho, and treating Spain's fever. Using some contortionism and a mirror to solve the outrageous Rubix Cube-locked costume was included in the list as well. _Did all that really happen in one day? _He thought, stretching out across the entire queen-sized bed.

Though Romano told himself that he was happy to have his own bed, he couldn't help but feel as if the bed was a little bit empty. But even if it was the end of the entire world, the eldest of the Italy brothers would never admit that he enjoyed having another warm body to curl up next to in the dead of night. Ever.

The following morning passed relatively normally compared to the first hectic day. The other two members of the Bad Touch Trio stayed off the radar, and Belgium taught Romano how to do laundry over the phone. But God forbid the Italian nation from ever seeing a peaceful day.

The human medicine that Spain was using proved to be useless, so Romano was sent off to go buy some different, better stuff. And since Romano was failing miserably at his 'mission', he had no choice but to accept the task. The entire day was spent at the nearby Carrefour, a "European rip-off of Wal-Mart" quoted from America, in an epic adventure.

No seriously, it was like "Journey to the Center of the Earth".

You see, by now Romano was completely convinced that he was and is a magnet for bad luck. Hell, his human name, Lovino, even means, "I ruin". So it should've been no surprise when he encountered numerous obstacles on his way.

The first thing that happened was the weather. Now, contrary to popular belief, it isn't sunny 24/7 in Spain. But usually when a person looks out their window and sees happy, beautiful sunshine, they don't bring an umbrella. Romano was no different and proceeded to walk to the store. His destination was in sight when a fat drop of water went _plop _directly onto his face. His head jerked up just to see dark clouds that were definitely not there when he left. "Goddammit!" He sprinted, but even the speed of the Italians didn't save him from getting soaked.

_I must look ridiculous, just running into the store sopping wet. _Romano must have, because many people gawked at him. "Is it a normal occurrence for it to just begin pouring while it's sunny here?" He mumbled.

This is where the crazy showed up. Romano was just minding his own business while looking for some good medicine when an elderly lady, about eighty or so, tapped him on the shoulder. There was just this look about her that told you shit was about to get it was that old hermit hairdo or the muumuu she was sporting. Perhaps the honey baked ham she held like a teddy bear in her arms?

Time stopped when she opened her mouth and stated, "Code three in house wares." His witty reply? "What the fuck?"

She gasped. "Such foul language!" Then promptly smacked him over the head with the ham. "Do you have a mother?" she questioned. "W-what type of question is that?" Another smack. This time, the force of the blow made him stumble. What could he say though? He's a nation for heaven's sake! They don't have mothers or fathers, they just sort of…pop up there?

"No! I don't have a mother! I don't!" He was crying, and didn't even notice the audience lining up to see the hilarious sight of a twenty-three year old man being hit over the head with a ham. And that's what the humans saw! Luckily for Romano, no other nations were there. The Italies already had a wimpy reputation, but this was the worst of the worst.

"Then swear on your mother's grave that you'll never curse again!"

"I swear, I sweeaaar!" The poor wimp was curled up in a ball, rolling around and begging for mercy. Courtesy of the old lady, mercy was granted. When he got to his feet, the lady looked him in the eye, handed him a cap gun and whispered, "Use this wisely." Then walked off nonchalantly. Old Lady Rose, as her name turned out to be, received high fives and applause. Romano attempted to sneak off into a different aisle, but failed.

If that wasn't bad enough, after escaping the shame, a random shopper thought it would be a great idea to throw crap over into the medicine aisle. AKA, Romano's head.

Several Italian curses later, he had finally gotten his hands on some Nyquil. He approached a register, ready to get back to Spain's house ASAP. That didn't stop a lone euro on the floor from catching his eye. For the hell of it, the unlucky man bent over to pick it up. Alas, he was intercepted.

"That's MINE!" An American tourist went on to yell for management after Romano, "stole his euro." America would've been proud.

Romano barged into the master suite and threw the Nyquil full force at Spain. He was completely wet, had a black eye, and was more than a little frazzled. "Some American tourists thought it would be entertaining to try '300 Ways to Get Kicked out of Wal-Mart' in Carrefour. I was the victim."

Let's just say that if any Italian speaking people were present, they would've had to call Grandma Rose to inform her that Romano broke his oath.


	8. The Few Words of Spanish He Knows

What...WHAT IS THIS FLUFFY MADNESS?! Well yes, peeps. Here is the END. I have ideas for several oneshots and a new series which will all be posted soon. They are the reason why this is seriously late. And after the plot bunnies are satisfied, I am definitely going to go over this story again. Rewrite it a bit. But, big thanks to all the people who reviewed.

_¿Estás disfrutando de esto?_ = Are you enjoying this? (Spanish)

_Mi rifiuto = _I refuse. (Italian)_  
_

_Ti amo = _I love you. (Italian)_  
_

_Te amo _= I love you (Spanish)

_Bésame_ =Kiss me. (Spanish)

If any translations are wrong, feel free to correct them.

* * *

To put it bluntly, Romano was fed up. Nothing but shit had come his way for the entire duration of the visit and he was done with it. Done.

All he had to do was walk out the damned door and leave it all behind. He had done it before, so why was it so hard to do it now?

_ Just one more night…Then I'll leave Spain and his sick ass._

* * *

The following morning, Romano woke up to the unrelenting Spanish sunshine shining through the guest bedroom's window. On the other hand, Spain was far, far away in the world of dreams.

_Spain sat in a field of carnations with a younger Romano in his lap. Everything seemed absolutely perfect. Romano was abnormally docile, and actually got up to start dancing. Wait…Was Romano smiling? This day was better than anything! But all good things must come to an end. _

_ For some reason, Romano's dancing was moving farther and father away from him. The previously pleasant warmth had skyrocketed in temperature, making the carnations wilt instantly. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the world around him seemed to be transforming into a desolate wasteland. And added to that, Spain's limbs felt immobile and heavy. Romano was so far away… _

_ "Romano! Romano!" His cracked, desperate, and hoarse voice must have sounded so pitiful. Hundreds of possibilities raced through his head. Would someone show up on the horizon to take away his beloved charge? Would that someone be the Ottoman Empire, France, or Austria, to join his brother? The mighty Roman Empire, to take him away as he did to Veneziano?_

_ But none of that happened. And for some odd reason, that made Spain feel so much worse. Not having closure as he sat there, completely helpless. With one last throaty yell, Spain could only hope that Romano might just turn around. _

"ROMANO!"

"I'm right here! I'm right here…" The second time Romano repeated it, he said it as softly as he could manage. Spain was latched securely onto him, strong arms engulfing Romano in a desperate hug. Desperate to hide his tears. Romano simply rubbed his back in small circles.

Spain really did have two faces. The first one: a cheery face, forever optimistic and confident. If his first 'face' was white, then Spain's other side was pitch black. To be honest, every nation has that side of them, but some are better at keeping it hidden. The memories of pain, bloodshed, betrayal, and hopelessness. The memories of depressions, of war.

As his longtime colony and friend, Romano had seen that white mask peel away before. The Italian hadn't witnessed one of these phases in while, though. The last time had been near the end of Romano's days as a colony. Who would've guessed that Spain had abandonment issues?

"Stay. Please stay, _mi tomate_." Spain's hot forehead pressed into Romano's shoulder. "I-I…Spain-" Romano began.

"Antonio. Toni." The elder nation interrupted._ Is he still half asleep or something? He's called me by my human name before, but he's never asked me to do the same._

"Toni then, jerk. I should get you a wet washcloth. Your fever is _molto male._ Antonio completely ignored him, instead whispering, "Your shoulder will suffice." Antonio pulled his little tomato back onto the bed all while nuzzling Lovino's cool skin. _So soft. _Much to the sick man's surprise, Romano didn't yell, curse, struggle, attempt to throw tomatoes or punches or all of the above.

"_¿Estás disfrutando de esto?_"

"Y-you know I don't speak Spanish, you j-jerk…"_ Fuck my stutter._

"You definitely know one sentence. Come one, say it."

"_Mi rifiuto._ You'll get me sick._"_

"You haven't so far."

With reluctance, Lovino finally let his defenses crumble. "_Bésame."_

And finally, all that ridiculous tension was released in one, simple yet passionate kiss.

"_Te amo."_

_"Ti amo."  
_

Spain is renowned for its passion, and Italy is renowned for its amazing lovers. You can guess the rest.


End file.
